The Abduction of Italy
by mykonosparadise
Summary: No one noticed a thing until they received a little piece of paper with a code scribbled on it. After the seriousness of the situation dawns on Germany, he tries to find a way to save his comrade who happens to be his lover as well...  Germany x Italy
1. The code

**Title:** **_The Abduction of Italy _**  
**Pairing(s):** Germany/Italy  
**Warning(s):** male-on-male, some violence, human names  
**Character(s):** Germany, Prussia, Japan  
**Summary:** No one noticed a thing until they received a little piece of paper with a code scribbled on it. After the seriousness of the situation dawns on Germany, he tries to find a way to save his comrade who happens to be his lover as well...

**- The Code - **

To say that Japan was surprised by Germany's expression would be an understatement of the century.

He remained mouse-quiet, almost unnaturally still, his main intention to keep observing Ludwig's paling features. What caused that urgent—panicky, he dared say—look in his eyes was an enigma to him. That drastic change in behavior and posture was connected to the piece of paper Ludwig was holding in a tight grip between his gloved fingers, no doubt.

Prussia, sitting unperturbed on a side of his brother's work-table, didn't take a notice of him, nor Ludwig for that matter, never stopping the continuous swing of his left leg. The heel of his calf-long, black boot occasionally connected with the wood with a dull thump, breaking the strained silence of the room. Scarlet eyes were fixed on a random point on the wall, somewhere behind Japan.

Kiku couldn't understand what the whole fuss was about. It was getting ridiculous.

He kept observing Ludwig, now calm, not uttering a word while he waited for the blond nation to speak first. To give some kind of an explanation. Anything would be good right now.

Germany must have noticed his stare after another minute of dead silence. He locked his blue eyes with Japan's dark ones briefly, ignoring Prussia to his left, before the leather front of his peaked cap hid his gaze, the _Reichsadler_ on the crown flashing with a dangerous glimmer under the bright lamp on Ludwig's massive work-table. *****

"Soldier?" The German spoke, his tone barely recognizable. At least for the young military mailman who stood still in front of Ludwig. Japan was absolutely certain that he was reeling with anger in this very moment—he was barely controlling his temper and the urge, _overwhelming_urge, to lash out at the mailman. Gilbert must have sensed his brother's tone as well since he turned to have a look at him. A smirk, caught between sadistic and amused, was blossoming on pale features.

Japan perceived a movement beside him the soon-to-be-punished man stretched his right arm out forward straight, with palm down, and fingers touching a flawless Roman salute.

"Sir?" Japan heard his voice, curt, with something tentative in it. His attention quickly switched back to Ludwig as soon as the blond removed the leather crop from his belt—that piece of paper was laid aside on the mahogany—tapping the long rod against his gloved palm in a threatening and ominous gesture.

"_Hände ausstrecken_." ******

Japan's breath caught in his throat, though nothing showed his emotion. Gilbert's smirk, if anything, grew only wider as he heard Ludwig's words. His _tone_.

"_W... was_?" The postman stuttered out in alarm. *******

"_Tun Sie es_!" Germany snarled, patience lost, grip on the leather handle increased to the point it flexed under his pressure.********The poor man did as he was ordered, only to be lashed with a sharp whip as soon as he offered his limbs.

Japan stood, petrified, while Ludwig delivered another hit onto the man's hands. Judging by the crack of thin leather cutting skin, it must have hurt. The Asian nation stayed put, hiding astonishment behind a mask—he has never witnessed this Ludwig before. The Ludwig who wore his heart on his sleeve, without keeping his feelings private.

That paper.

It was most likely that little piece of paper, forgotten on the table, which made his ally act so violent. The mailman next to him couldn't hold back, he released a muffled moan of pain as the final blow fell onto his shaking arms. Ludwig turned his back to all of them, discarded the whip onto the table, reaching to rub his chin in deep thought. Gilbert used the break to satisfy his curiosity and read the paper that has been in his brother's possession until few minutes ago.

"Next time do your duty and bring me the mail immediately. This was your first and last warning." Ludwig addressed the mailman, his voice low but calmer than before. A sudden snap of his fingers, a sign for the soldier-mailman to leave, pulled Kiku out of a trance. Said man saluted one last time to all three nations and obeyed gladly, heading for the hospital-wing to have his bloody wrists bandaged.

"Germany-san—"

"I must leave." Ludwig cut off before he got a chance to finish the question. The albino, that proud Prussian, muttered something to himself and laughed in the face of grave atmosphere. Japan recognized "useless", perhaps even "brat" in his indistinct speech, but ignored him in favor of watching Ludwig who circled the table, took a gun and hid it inside the inner pocket of his black uniform. He snatched his trench coat from the hanger.

Then he took a blank piece of paper from the table and scribbled something on it.

Before Kiku could be interrupted again, Ludwig handed him the message politely and made his way towards the door.

"Please have this message sent to the Allies in case something happens. We will keep in touch." It was everything he said before ordering Gilbert to come with him. The Prussian threw the paper carelessly onto the table with a quick roll of his eyes at being commanded so, but slipped down the table to follow his younger brother, leaving Japan with a jocose wink.

Kiku stared at the closed door for few short moments, then lowered his gaze to read the message. A scoff marred his features when he finished, but he folded it into his pocket nonetheless. Ludwig apparently knew what he was doing. Japan trusted him.

He still didn't understand anything. What changed the Germany he knew, what drove his actions? Didn't they plan on discussing the new front developments? Truth to be told, they were still waiting for Italy to show up, but each one of them shrugged it off as they were sure he was somewhere within the borders of the headquarters.

Genuinely curious about that little piece of paper, Kiku drew nearer to solve the mystery and read its contents. The German brothers were kind enough to leave it there, free for him to take a look. The paper was scrambled, not entirely clean, but the words seemed to have been written not long ago. It was indeed a message. A coded message.

_Hamburger wants to eat Pasta. North B. Be careful, Wurst._

Kiku wanted to slap the Mediterranean nation. He irresistibly wanted to slap him, not only for being abducted, but for writing this—a silly and obvious code that even the simplest foot soldier could decipher.

The Allies held him captive in their North base. And Germany was as naïve as to think that only he and Gilbert could rescue him alone.

An expression of scorn crept over his face. That much about Ludwig being a tactician.

Although…

He remembered the message given to him by Ludwig, the one hidden in his pocket. A tiny smile of understanding appeared on his lips. He had underestimated his ally. A strategist. And a damn good one too.

_**To Be Continued… **_

**Explanations/Translations: **  
**  
***** "The Reichsadler (Empire's Eagle) was a historic eagle national insignia deriving from the heraldic Roman Aquila during various times of Germany's history, including the German Empire, the Weimar Republic and Nazi Germany." **

**** "Stretch your hands out." (German) **

***** "W-what?" (German)**

****** "Do it!" (German)**


	2. Help

**Character(s):** Germany, Prussia, Italy, America, England, France  
**  
**

**- Help - **

Italy was still like never before in his long life.

He had no other choice.

The quiet of this bleak place forced him to keep his mouth shut. He assumed that already few hours have passed since he has been moved here, a shabby section of the building**—**a clattered and dusty old room that probably used to serve as a storage. It had an abandoned feel to it.

Feliciano examined the place for the hundredth time since he was dragged down here. There was no escape. Aside from him, an old bucket and chunks of concrete scattered around, the room was empty. He looked up at the massive hole in the ceiling, gaping down at him.

The Italian listened to every little sound, every clatter, every breath. Whatever was coming from the other side of the locked doors was danger. It wasn't even a proper prison how humiliating. At least the small window was still intact, the cool of the evening was creeping inside.

When he heard footsteps, his heart started beating as a drum, wanting out. Fear or hope, what was he supposed to feel?

He took a deep breath in a puny attempt of self-encouragement. His thoughts kept drifting back to a certain blond, he asked himself what Germany would do in his place. He wouldn't be scared.

He tried not to be.

"Did he kick the bucket yet?" A derisive laughter was the answer to the question. Feliciano recognized the new voice, excitement coursed through his veins. He couldn't breathe properly. His gaze was cast upwards while the door was being unlocked, the unmistakable click made him jump up from the floor. The last thing he wanted now was to get caught in such a vulnerable position. He brushed his pants off just as the door was opened.

"Ah, there you are, worm." The guard snarled, coming nearer. Feliciano stared helplessly at him. He raised a hand, as if to deliver a blow, and Italy shut his eyes in defensive reflex, expecting a strike which never came. The human laughed mockingly and gave him a push.

He stumbled backwards, the wall prevented him from falling onto the cold floor.

Another laugh joined in, coming from the soldier who has been guarding the door, rude and loud, just like them man himself. The man inside waved him off.

"Your shift is over. I'll take over now."

The guard saluted with an amused smirk and disappeared from their sight shortly thereafter.

Italy observed the other occupant of the room, a tall, young man with black curly hair who returned the gaze immediately. Green eyes softened as he put a finger over his lips**—**a sign for the nation to be quiet. He jogged towards the door again to make sure they were alone, eyes scanning the long hall while he rummaged through his front pocket. When he found himself in front of Feliciano, he handed him the spoils.

"This is everything I was able to find, I'm sorry I couldn't help more." The man said in a whisper, "I apologize for earlier. It was necessary." He added.

Italy eyed the items. There was a piece of paper, a bit scrambled but blank, and a pen. It could help.

"_Grazie_, it's exactly what I need." Italy gave the man a warm smile, undisguised tokens of gratitude visible on his features. His secret aid nodded in response.

"But please hurry. I don't have much time." Italy spread the paper against the dirty wall, keeping it stretched with his fingertips while he scribbled a short message – a code – on it. It was everything he came up with while sitting here. He hoped Germany won't be angry at him for screwing up with the code.

Italy still couldn't believe the man was willing to help. The last thing he expected was to stumble upon a soldier of Italian decent, though the man confessed this minor detail to him only. He wondered if his comrades knew.

"How long have I been here?" Italy asked, and returned the paper to the man who was risking so much by offering help.

"Six hours since you've arrived to the base. Two hours since you've been moved here." He answered, hiding the message into the safety of his pocket once again.

"I cannot guarantee delivery." The man informed with a grave expression. It was Feliciano's turn to respond with a nod. He had suspected that already.

"At least you tried." Italy gave a small smile, the best one he could muster in this situation.

"If any information leaks out, I'll have to defend myself. And you know what happens to you."

The Mediterranean nation knew what was waiting for him even without the man saying it out loud. The Allies would tear him apart. And what would happen to Germany after that, he knew better than the soldier himself.

"Germany." His helper said quietly, an inquisitive look on his face, "How does he look like?" Italy's face brightened at the question, he clasped his hands in rush of excitement.

"He is tall and well-built." A sincere smile crossed Feliciano's features this time, "Blond hair – always sleeked back – and the most beautiful blue eyes you'll ever see!"

The man brought a finger to his lips again to hush Italy, his lips forming a tiny smile at the sudden display of enthusiasm. The usually cheerful nation gave an apologetic look in return, keeping his voice low this time.

"Why are you asking?"

The soldier shrugged.

"Curiosity, I guess." He departed then, leaving Italy alone in the desolated room. He stood there for some more before taking few steps backwards, until his back came in contact with the cold wall. He slid down slowly. Hazel eyes monitored the locked door regularly, he let his conscience take over again. How could everything go so wrong? Hugging his bent legs to his chest, he leaned his chin onto the locked knees.

He felt like shit.

What will Germany think of him now? Did anyone even wonder where he was? Would his allies help him?

Will _Ludwig_ keep his promise and help him now?

* * *

"And? His answer?"

The mailman didn't offer a response, steady gaze directed at his boss. America resisted the sudden urge to roll his eyes in front of everyone.

"You may speak. They are allies." He referred to two other nations present. England muttered to himself in something that irresistibly reminded of cursing, France waited for the report with strained patience.

"Well?" America prompted.

"Germany accepts your conditions. He demands that both sides bring the same number of men – not over fifty, that is. He asks for another hour to consult his allies."

"Bollocks." England snapped after the man finished his report, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Which part doesn't agree with you, _Angleterre_?" France asked without sparing him a glance.

"No, I don't think Germany would be as dishonorable as to break the terms and bring reinforcements." The youngest nation lectured. Arthur wanted to connect his palm to Alfred's head in a fat smack and tell him to shut up.

"I am not talking about that, brat." His accent fell on the latter, "We won't let that happen, naturally. Our troops will be at the ready. I'm talking about the _time_." His gaze shifted to Francis, looking for understanding and support from his long-term rival, "What for does he need another hour? Consultation? Absurd, I say. We are supposed to loiter here until he assembles his elite troops?"

Encouraged by silence, Arthur turned to look at the mailman.

"Respond with the following message: if he doesn't arrive at the place of agreement, his ally will be done harm to." He ordered, but the mailman watched America, waiting for approval.

America refused to give any.

"Wait a second, England, who told you to**—**"

"You would really harm Italy?" France rose without paying attention to Alfred, a hint of challenge to his tone, blue eyes settling on Arthur who equaled the dirty look.

"Why so attached, France. Knowing you**—**"

"Okay! Hold on for a second!" America defended his authority in robust terms and a loud slam against his table – an argue was inevitable. He addressed the mailman first.

"Leave and tell him to stick to the agreement. But he won't be given more than half an hour to make up his mind." The soldier saluted and left without a word.

"This was _my_plan." Alfred announced with a breath of superiority, "Those of you who disagree and wish to leave may do so now."

France didn't lift a finger.

England left.

Not before giving France one last malevolent glare, and a spiteful curse, aimed at all of them, aimed at the whole world.

* * *

Germany scrutinized their surroundings through the windscreen. The night-fall was a complicating factor. He caught someone approaching the _Kübelwagen_ that was parked far away from the main entrance of the base. *****

Prussia slipped inside and closed the door quietly, rubbing his upper arms energetically in his seat. He mimicked Ludwig and looked out of the window, scanning their surroundings to make sure he wasn't followed.

"It's becoming chilly outside, West." He informed matter-off-factly, immune to the intimidating look Germany was giving him.

"_Gilbert_." Ludwig warned in a hiss, dead serious. Finally warmed up, the Prussian slumped back in the seat with a grin.

"This is not the time for your nonsense. Be serious. Do me that favor tonight, brother."

Gilbert gave a snort at the plea, but his grin softened.

"Blondie's shift is over, he left five minutes ago. Shorty's turn this time, he wasn't there when I left though. Maybe he gave up the ghost..." He suggested, using the nicknames they gave the guards. The younger German averted his gaze, fingers gripping the steering-wheel tightly, thinking.

"We're going in now." Ludwig said after a minute.

"And how exactly are we going to do it?" Gilbert asked which earned him a stare.

"Use your brain once in a while, Gilbert." The purr of the engine was drowned out by Ludwig's words.

The Prussian roared with laughter.

"I turn it off as soon as you turn your own on, West..." Disturbed by the noise, a flock of crows rose above the trees. Ludwig hit the road again, leaving the safety of their hiding-place.

"Listen..." He began slowly.

"I'm all ears, brother." Gilbert glowed with excitement, barely waiting for the action to start.

**_To Be Continued... _**

*** Kübelwagen **- **"was a military vehicle designed by Ferdinand Porsche and built by Volkswagen during World War II for use by the German military." **


	3. Escape

**Character(s):** Germany, Prussia, Italy, America, England  
**Pairing(s): **Germany/Italy  
**Warning(s):** male-on-male, sex, language, human names  
**Summary:** _No one noticed a thing until they received a little piece of paper with a code scribbled on it. After the seriousness of the situation dawns on Germany, he tries to find a way to save his comrade who happens to be his lover as well...__  
_

**A/N: I told you I haven't abandoned this story, it just took me a year to sit down and write the last chapter. Sorry 'bout that.**

**- Escape -**

The night has already fallen, biting cold, when Ludwig finally arrived at the infamous North base and headed directly for the main gate where a guard was watching over the entrance. He came screeching to a halt right before the vehicle could touch the boom-barrier controlling the passage of the restricted area. A guard-soldier tumbled from his lodge, fiddling with the chin-strap of his helmet while he approached them.

"_Bonsoir_."

"Evening, comrade." Gilbert replied through open window, his accent perfect British.

The soldier appeared young, perhaps in his early twenties, with sandy hair and a sparse beard which Gilbert took to be an attempt to look older than his baby face suggested. He flashed his hand lamp at the two Germans inside the car, inspecting the British warm they wore—a knee-length overcoat close fitting at the waist. As he couldn't find any ranks on their uniforms, he suspected they were buck privates.

"Permit?" The Frenchman demanded with a heavy accent. Gilbert handed him the fake documents.

"Where did you get ze Krautwagen?" The question followed after a minute of silence. *****

"Stolen. From an alleyman." Gilbert assured with a brag grin. ******

"Damned Jerries." The guard jeered. "Follow me, please." He added. Gilbert rolled the window up and turned to share one last look with Ludwig before he went out. *******

"This is our only chance, don't fumble it, Gilbert." The guard scuttled off to his lodge again, but he kept his voice low nonetheless. The Prussian replied with a confident smile.

"I'll be back before you can say Old Fritz."

"And don't overdo it."

"Subtlety is my middle name, West." He padded out his words with unnecessary swagger.

"You mispronounced flamboyance." Ludwig's whispered to no one. A shot of adrenaline jolted through his mind while he listened to the spectacle unfolding before his eyes. He was torn between patience and the urge to rush inside and find Feliciano. The short conversation outside stopped—he watched how they approached the rear of the car, and then in an instant he realized that the man has ordered Gilbert to show him the luggage compartment. He was holding his breath without noticing it. Following his instinct, he reached into his boot to get his gun, but his attention quickly switched to the reflection in the rear-view mirror where his brother discreetly held his thumb up. He put the weapon down just when Gilbert closed the trunk with a slam.

Ludwig listened to the conversation he wasn't taking part in, but he could barely discern the words. What seemed like a murmur of approbation came from outside before the Prussian returned to his seat again, a grim expression on his pale features. Curiosity was eating him up.

"Things are looking pretty grave." The words seemed to hammer a nail into Ludwig's heart. "He won't let us pass."

Ludwig barely found his tongue. These new developments were casting a shadow over his plans.

"Why? Why not?" There was a touch of panic in his voice. He felt a sudden stab of concern for Feliciano.

"Says we're suspicious."

"Your eyes?"

"Maybe."

Ludwig was thinking frantically. Maybe humans learned how to recognize a nation, after all.

A sudden creak pulled him out of thoughts and interrupted his forming of new plans. For the first time since he has joined him, Gilbert turned to look at him. The expression of undoubted success on his brother's face left him entirely puzzled.

The boom-gate in front of the vehicle was rising in a vertical arc slowly while the guard waved to him to go through. After that minute of despair, a wave of elation hit Ludwig's senses.

"Gilbert…" He wanted to bite his head off. "Fuck you."

The engine re-started with a roar, Gilbert's laughter was louder. He offered a two-finger salute to the naïve guard before they trespassed enemy territory.

* * *

Coming inside was a snap job. Ludwig suspected that passing unnoticed and unchecked inside the building would be far more difficult. His expectations were crushed at every step.

"The place looks like a ghost town." Gilbert mused aloud.

"Save your words for later."

On the inside, he shared his brother's opinion. They managed to fall through cracks easier than he had expected. The emptiness of the ground floor was put before them—they couldn't find a single soul in the halls, and who knew where they kept Italy captive. Ludwig's mind was frozen, his senses straining.

"Where's the fucking safeguard?" Gilbert bemoaned quietly. They would have to either capture someone soon or find the needle in a haystack.

"Should we break into one of the offices, West? Perhaps we could kidnap someone."

"That's a brave proposal. But caution comes first. It's better to wait for someone." They spoke in whispers.

"I care less for starting a gunfire than I do for, say, Roderich's rattle that he calls playing piano. Let's start a riot."

Gilbert had a point, in some sense. They didn't come here to wait for the morning dawn—the time was running out. Ludwig was about to retort when he perceived a movement from the corner of his eye. He spotted a soldier standing to their left side, surprised at having discovered them, but still. He wasn't carrying a firearm.

The severity of his intense gaze gathered Ludwig's resolve. He was in front of the astonished man in the blink of an eye, the muzzle of his gun pressed against his abdomen. Gilbert joined in an instant and pulled their new party away from the glaring light into the darkness of the nearest narrow hall. Gilbert's own gun settled against the man's nape.

"Raise your voice and you're KIA, compree?" The Prussian hissed in a threat. ********

The man gave a nod, terrified.

"Germany?"

The sudden question left both brothers speechless. Wide-eyed, Gilbert glanced over the man's shoulder, but found that Ludwig's expression mirrored his own.

"How did you know?" The blond demanded, pushing his gun further against the soldier's middle. Trapped, but relieved beyond words, he gave a hint of a smile.

"I didn't. Until now."

* * *

Three figures descended into the murky basement—one soldier, two nations.

They trooped off toward the very end of the hall where a gas-lamp hung above the man guarding the door of the run-down room. The soldier greeted, the group saluted back.

"We've received an order from the Supreme Command to relocate the captive."

"The Axis must be getting cold feet, eh?" Returned the soldier and shifted to the side. Ludwig and Gilbert watched how their secret helper fished out a key from his pocket to unlock the door—seconds were parting them from Italy.

The Italian entered first, closely followed by the Germans. They found the brunette curled up on the floor, slumbering. He didn't even have a proper coat on. Pure will was now keeping Ludwig from rushing to wrap him into his own warm coat and taking him out of this dump.

"On your feet, Macaroni!" The man yelled as to prevent any suspicion of the guard. Feliciano startled up alarmed, blinking to clear his vision.

His heart let out a whoop of joy.

His allies have come. Ludwig has come to save him. He wanted to leap into his arms.

He fully expected the blond to smile and spread his strong arms in a welcoming hug, but Ludwig's grave expression put his emotions to a rest. Gilbert's hand shot out, fingers wrapped around his arm, gripping firmly, pulling him up from the concrete.

"Up, you wimp!" He didn't even perceive Gilbert's faked jibe, his eyes were on his lover the entire time.

Even when Ludwig too grabbed him roughly and drew him outside, he couldn't stop the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"Ludwig…" He dared say after they were at a safe distance from the guard, threading their way out of the base, his voice shook with suppressed emotion.

Ludwig didn't answer.

His cool reception was a bitter blow. Perhaps his own expectations were set high. Did he really believe that Germany would gambol around and sing joyfully? Still, it was hard to maintain a distance when Ludwig was so near, when he could feel the warmth of his body.

The Italian soldier, their guide and aid, saw them to the vehicle outside, careful not to be seen. In the shelter of the night, Gilbert helped Feliciano climb into the trunk to hide. The brunette wanted to close the Prussian into a tight embrace—his encouragement was music to his ears, his assuring smile more beautiful than a painting. Curled in a ball, he crammed himself into the small space of the trunk, thankful that Gilbert has thrown a rug over the hard metal.

"Don't worry, Feli, you're in safe hands now." Gilbert ruffled his chocolate locks and closed the trunk lid.

Ludwig started cranking the engine for a new start, to a place where they could converse uninterrupted.

* * *

"A call for you, Sir. England is one the line."

Alfred rushed to the phone. Perfect timing—he was about to report back to the headquarters.

"Artie, listen!" He began, highly spirited, with a firm belief in the success of his plan, "More than an hour, and he's still not here. Germany doesn't even have an assembly of an army, you see? He won't arrive at all."

"_That's because your honorable enemy won't be coming, twat!_" England yelled and held the handle in a steal grip, as if his tight clutch alone would be magically transferred onto America's neck. Alfred remained deaf to all his insults. "_His supposed delay was a distraction—Italy is missing! Do you hear me, genius?_"

A moment of silence ensued.

"_What_?"

* * *

The unnerving atmosphere that suffocated the car was choking Italy. Even Gilbert cut his excessive overweening speech to a minimum, sensing his brother's somber mood.

They crept into their secret hiding-place again to change into their usual uniforms, Feliciano waited inside. The Italian found himself flip-flopping between euphoria at having been saved and despair. He considered how awful it would be if Ludwig refused to speak to him all night—he felt wounded by his tacit accusations. If shame could kill.

On their way back, he caught himself awkwardly digging for a topic of conversation; he spoke only as not to be quiet.

After they have arrived at the headquarters, Gilbert left them without a word. Wrapped in darkness, they stayed alone in the vehicle.

The numb silence lasted for long, Feliciano lost track of time. He was cold and sleepy, only his misery and Ludwig's presence were keeping him awake now.

It was a soft growl that rose from Feliciano's stomach—humbly reminding him that he hasn't eaten since noon—that earned him Ludwig's attention. Without a single movement to announce his question, he spoke from the driver's seat.

"Are you hungry?"

Feliciano chewed on his lip, cheeks flushing red.

"You should have left that question until the end."

"That is what I did." Ludwig wasn't even looking at him. "All else I have to know I've already seen at the base."

Feliciano felt unhappy, so unhappy that he couldn't recognize any other feeling.

"Ludwig," He started quietly, expressing his deepest apologies, "I'm sorry…" His otiose words showed no useful result.

His mind was spinning, his thoughts a mess. "I promise, I will never—"

"Clearly, there is no point in discussing it. What you haven't learned in all those years you won't learn in one night either."

Each word was a flog to Feliciano's shrinking heart. All were true.

The truth hurt, indeed. The full weight of self-disappointment pressed down on him. Ludwig's acrimony and honesty embarrassed him on the surface, but sorrow they caused cut even deeper.

_'Forgive me for being so stupid!'_ He wanted to cry out, but couldn't.

"I'm sorry…" He repeated weakly.

They sat like that for quite some time, again in silence. Germany in the driver's seat, hands in his lap, and Italy hugging his knees for the second time that day. He stared through the window at nothing, throwing only occasional glances at Ludwig, waiting.

If he would only tell something. Anything. Why did he have to adhere to his principles even tonight?

As if on cue, the blond rose slowly, straightening up to leave the seat. Would he leave him now?

Contrary to Feliciano's fears, he approached the passenger door.

He couldn't even wait until Ludwig sat down beside him.

The blond had hardly hit the seat when he found himself handful of the Mediterranean nation. Feliciano rested his entire weight on top of him, arms flung around Ludwig tightly, fingers gripping at his back, lost in the heavy coat. Not in fear or desire. In urge to be near—as near as possible—to feel Ludwig's heart-beat, hear his breathing. A desperate attempt to say all the unspoken things through a touch.

Feliciano took a deep breath and Ludwig felt the puff of warm air caress his neck. Eyes closed, Italy let all thoughts slip away, his head nestled on Ludwig's shoulder. The metallic rank stars on the straps that ran along Ludwig's shoulder dug into his skin, but he didn't care. His arms went numb, but he didn't let go. No words were exchanged. He was dazed by the scent that was pure Ludwig.

"Feliciano…" The German said, quiet.

Italy loved that voice. The one that knew how to whisper. It made him feel content and safe.

He had a friend.

"They don't know." He whispered to Ludwig, taking the weight off his chest. The suspicion that the Allies knew. That they were lovers. That they were vulnerable.

Feliciano listened to Ludwig's heart with his hand, happy that he had forgiven him again. Who else did he have in this grisly world other than Ludwig?

He threaded his hand through thick, blond locks, shifting to press a kiss just below his ear. Ludwig appeared riveted by his treatment. When Feliciano nuzzled down against his throat and sunk his teeth into his neck where he was sensitive, Ludwig responded quickly to his touch. He sucked air between his teeth, hand moving up to tangle into dark locks, twirling Feliciano's curl around his finger to pull gently.

A guttural, needy growl escaped the brunette while Ludwig stroked the curved lock of hair, his erogenous zone, and he traveled his hands down his hard chest. The blue vein on Ludwig's pale neck seemed to throb under his touch, he traced it gently with the tip of his tongue, kissing, nipping. He was an inventive lover who aimed to please, but his actions now seemed desperate.

Ludwig too burst out into a strange kind of passion, thrusting his hips upward, wrapping his free arm around Feliciano's waist— their tongues were entwined in a passionate kiss. The blond slipped his hands around Feliciano's torso that tapered down to a narrow waist, cupping his ass-cheeks in his large hands. Both were breathing heavily. Feliciano's own hands weren't idle either. With an impatient movement of his fingers, he tore the coat open, reached under the shirt, touching everywhere. His fingers grazed Ludwig's nipples, chocolate brown and standing erect, and he gave a pinch to each, earning a long, drawn-out groan that made all the fine hairs on his neck stand up.

Ludwig's mouth was on him suddenly, kissing his jaw, between his neck and shoulder, thrusting up again. The friction sent sparks of lust up and down Feliciano's spine. The blond was quick to unbuckle his belt, and he lifted him up, set out to remove his trousers. He didn't have time and patience for starting out slow. Efficient, never the one for much foreplay.

Feliciano allowed it.

The anticipation had been at fever pitch for days. _Heavens_, when was the last time they have made love? He has forgotten.

He branched his arms and pressed up against the back seat to help Ludwig undress him. There was little space, the windows were fogged, sweat was already pouring off of them. The blond removed his own coat with some difficulty, Feliciano tugged at his shirt and he peeled it off as well. The strong muscles and tensed pecs that flexed at Ludwig's movements fell victim to the Italian's groping touch. He caught Ludwig's swollen lips while the blond had his hands still tangled in the garments, kissing deeply.

Feliciano ran his fingers down that fine line of hair that led the way from Ludwig's abs to his cock, aiming for the treasure at the end of the path. The belt was undone with no hesitation. Feliciano unfastened the fly and pulled his trousers lower, as far as he was able, revealing the dense bush of silky, blond curls. The veins on the shaft were bulging. Ludwig was unbuttoning the shirt that still hid Feliciano's body, but he didn't get far—the skillful Italian went to work on his erect shaft. He stroked in a steady rhythm, perfect pressure. Groans that came spilling from Ludwig's mouth made Feliciano's own cock swell. The smell of Ludwig's cologne, of sex, sweat and musk enhanced his lust, a moan tore from his throat.

He wanted to thrust his hips down and rub against his lover, but his own hand was in the way.

Ludwig's sudden touch sent him into a shudder—one finger was stroking over his leaking head, smearing the pre-come over the skin flushed red before he took the same course as Feliciano and his fingers brushed the thick tangle of dark pubes, gripping the base of his shaft. Feliciano bit his lips and nestled his head against Ludwig's neck again—the German wasn't as dexterous as him, but his touch felt heavenly nevertheless.

He titled his head and took the blond's earlobe gently between his teeth to tug at it. Ludwig's steely thighs tensed under him—he loved it. He was nuzzling into Ludwig's neck, slow and affectionate, hand working on Ludwig's shaft in a determined pace. Then he felt it. He had a sudden urge to have all of it inside him.

Ludwig's fingers slipped lower to roll the brunette's balls in his palm, squeezing gently, then to his perineum. The Italian found it extremely arousing. He breathed against ear, savoring the moment; Ludwig massaged him _so good_.

He braced his legs further apart and had Ludwig grab his bare ass instead, pelvis grinding against the blond's arousal. His fingers traveled up, nudging Ludwig's lips apart to slide them into the warm orifice. Ludwig took two of his fingers into his mouth invitingly, then three, lavishly coating them with saliva. Felicano shivered at the very image. His erection twitched when Ludwig parted his fingers with his tongue, swirling around the digits. The anticipatory tingle felt like bliss and Feliciano moaned loudly while the German massaged his balls meantime, gently kneading the velvety-soft skin. He hardly brought himself to pull away.

He withdrew his fingers, clasping Ludwig's shoulder with the other hand and letting the blond lift him. Calloused hands pulled the two taut globes apart, and Feliciano reached between his thighs and ran a wet finger over his pucker, slipping it in with ease. Ludwig was keeping him open while he fingered himself. Impatient, Feliciano scissored his digits deeper, stretching himself. It didn't last long. He couldn't wait. Not tonight.

He removed his fingers and spat into his palm to lube Ludwig's cock with the only lubricant they had at the moment. Holding the thick shaft upright, he went all the way down, enjoying every inch of it.

"A-ah, _merda_!" He stuttered out with a gasp at the deep penetration. The sensations weren't new; it has been a while, though, since he had Ludwig inside of him like this. Feliciano half-expected the German to thrust up and start a heavy pace, but Ludwig held the position, driven up his ass to the hilt, his hands on the Italian's thighs. Feliciano gyrated his hips with a strangled moan, muscles flexing and spasming around the cock rammed up inside him.

His lips brushed Ludwig's neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses, mischievous hands commenced to wander across his naked torso, defined muscles rippled under his fingers. He rolled one of Ludwig's nipples between his fingers, gently, only to be rewarded with a long moan—he was so sensitive there.

Ludwig lifted him, going up and down inside him, and the deep, slow strokes sent him into a flutter. All discomfort was gone in mere seconds. The blond picked up the tempo, but remained deep within him the whole time. He was still lifting him up and down while thrusting up, mercilessly brushing his swelled prostrate with each little movement. Feliciano felt his whole body go weak under the assaults of pleasure.

Ludwig's baby blue eyes penetrated his soul while his shaft penetrated his body. This nation had saved him so many times, and he would save him again.

Feliciano clasped his hands around Ludwig's neck, pulling him up against his half-covered chest.

"_Tesoro mio_… Say you're mine." He demanded, tracing the pouty curve of Ludwig's lower lip.

"_Auf immer Dein._" The German breathed with unadulterated devotion. Feliciano's teeth found his lips, nipping, hot tongue battling for his possession. If others only knew how possessive Italy was of this young nation, how much he craved to be the sole object of Ludwig's love.

Their movements ceased to touching and kissing. Ludwig reached up to brush the chocolate bangs away, feeling under his fingers the sweat that has gathered on Feliciano's temples. Tongues were fighting for pleasure.

It took them a full minute to take up where they have left off.

Picking up speed quickly now, Feliciano coordinated the timing of his breathing with the building orgasm. Ludwig was gripping him firmly, thrusting back up to meet his every move—the car was rocking gently. He stroked over the fine hairs on Feliciano's milky thighs, clutching flexing muscles that worked tirelessly. Why only didn't he show so much devotion during training? Ludwig dismissed the stray thought that occurred to him through daze of pleasure, a breath away from fulfillment.

Feliciano's body shook in violent convulsions as he climaxed, their frantic humping gradually slowed until both were merely rubbing against each other, sweaty and exhausted.

Feliciano leaned his head on Ludwig's shoulder, titling up just enough to breathe properly. He wished they could stay this way all night.

"Forgive me." His voice was not louder than a whisper.

"I have nothing to forgive you." Ludwig's hand brushed over his hair, a drowsy wave of contentment washed over the Italian. For the first time that day, a happy smile stretched across his lips.

**- The End -**

**Notes:**  
**  
***** Krautwagen:** WWII slang for Volkswagen.  
**  
****** Alleyman:** German soldier. From French _Allemagne_.

***** Jerry:** an offensive term for a German person, especially a German soldier in WWII.  
**  
******** KIA:** killed in action (WWII slang); Compree: Do you understand? From French _compris_ (slang).  
**  
********* Tesoro** **mio** (Italian): my darling/precious one  
**  
********** Auf immer Dein**(German): forever yours


End file.
